


"A Doctor, a Gypsy, and a Vampire Walked Into a Bar..."

by srsly_yes



Series: Blood Brothers 'Verse [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Slash, Vampire!Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-29
Updated: 2008-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srsly_yes/pseuds/srsly_yes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it a disease or a curse that's killing Wilson? House has to race time to solve the mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"A Doctor, a Gypsy, and a Vampire Walked Into a Bar..."

**Author's Note:**

> A) Romani - English Glossary at the end of the story.  
> B) This story is based on a real medical case. Only the organs have been changed to protect the innocent.

**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** You may call it AU. I call it a macabre bromance. Some fluff.  
**Spoilers:** lol  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Never will be. Also, my apologies to Joss Whedon.  
**Beta:** Heartfelt thanks to amazing betas bookfan85 and leakey_lover.  
**A/N: **This was written for sick!Wilson fest prompt: AU/Supernatural #4. Wilson is suffering from a curse which is rapidly becoming deadly. The disease is based on a real case.

 

.  
.

“You think you have problems, Wilson. You should get a load of my new patient. He’s the poster child for the Jolly Green Giant.”

“Which pleases you no end, or you wouldn’t have taken the case.”

Wilson stopped dead in the corridor, radiating meaningful silence. House halted too, though not of his own volition.

Folding his arms on his chest, Wilson quietly said, “And please stop referring to my ‘problems’ while we are in the hospital.”

House’s legs were Super Glued to the floor. It was about the only superpower feat his dearly bedeviled partner could do. “I was being kind. You’re the one who says ‘problems.’ I say vampirism.”

“House. Just not here, okay?” Wilson spoke under his breath.

Taking deadly aim with his eyes, House replied, “Then stop working your mojo on me while we are at work.”

Wilson blinked, and once again House’s legs were back under his control. “Of course, I’m always up for your earth-moving mojo anytime, anyplace—“

“House.”

“Obviously, not now, not here.” House was resigned. “Later?”

Brushing the back of his neck, Wilson questioned, “You just don’t give up, do you?”

“You need to ask?”

They traded the briefest of smiles. House wasn’t sure if it was the connection or the way they simply cared about each other that made their silent communication as clear as a cable connection to a hi-def TV, but he didn’t regret for a moment their recently formed bond.

To think Wilson was a vampire for all these years, and kept it a secret from everyone, including him.

Besides the unbelievable vampire sex, they mutually received something beneficial. Wilson was vibrant and healthy from drinking a toast in House's blood, and House was pain free with two miniscule and fast fading hickeys to prove he was the happy donor.

Unfortunately, neither knew how long Wilson’s therapy would last on House’s leg from session to session, or as Wilson warned, whether it might stop working altogether. Taking precautions, House feigned a limp and continued to lean on the cane.

They were about to reach the patient’s room when high-pitched screams issued from it. Raising quizzical eyebrows at each other they moved faster to see what the commotion was all about.

A young man with a bloated, wrinkled face and untamed hair was lying in the bed. Medicated for his discomfort, he seemed not to be aware of the cacophony surrounding him. His family and House’s medical team were fanned around the room.

Everyone’s eyes were upon a small prune of a woman garbed in a crazy quilt of mismatched colors and fabric. On a twenty-something, the clothes might have suited a runway model; on this woman it looked like she went dumpster diving at Goodwill.  
   
Her voice was wild with fury and a trifle difficult to understand. Her accented words alternately growled and shrieked as she traded Ws for Vs, rolled her Rs, and peppered her accusations with a language House found unfamiliar.

She turned to her family. “Didn’t I tell you? You can’t trust ze lot of zhem?! I varned you seven times not to bring my chaveske chikno here, and now look! In two days he’s unrecognizable!"

She turned her gimlet eyes toward the doctors and liberally pointed her finger at every white lab coat, including Wilson's. “You gadjikane doctors, I’ve lost my patience vit you. Do you know vhat’s wrong vit my grandson or not?!”

Foreman stepped forward, glancing at House. “At this moment, no, we don’t. We’re still running tests. We want to—”

“Stop, Dilo! I know vhat you’re going to say. Stick more pins in him! Isn’t two days long enough? Look at my little Fonso. He’s miserable, and you vant to make him more miserable.”

As the woman carried on, House was drawing conclusions. From her protectiveness and the age difference between her and the patient, House judged _chaveske chikno_ was "great-grandson" or "grandson." The puzzle began to fit together when he heard her say gadji. So the family was Roma. As for dilo, he was going to file that away in his private storehouse of insults. The way the old crone said it, he would bet money it meant idiot.

The woman was finally slowing down, but a wicked gleam sparkled from her eyes…

A middle-aged woman stepped forward, placating with a raised hand. “Dai, please don’t—“

The older woman shot the younger a glare that silenced her, and then continued with her harangue. “Maybe you’ll understand my grandson’s symptoms better if you experience zem for yourselves!” She spat on the floor. “An amria on you all!”

She then began muttering zealously as House looked on, amused at his staff.  Foreman rolled his eyes, Thirteen stayed stoically sullen, Kutner gawked, and Taub stood unimpressed with his hands on his hips.

House turned to Wilson to make a crack about his band of medical dilos, but stayed his tongue when he saw the man’s eyes. Dark black discs were mesmerized by woman’s words.

Could Wilson understand what the woman spewed?

Everyone knew when the gibberish finally was done by her hawking and spitting at the end of her speech.

But Wilson outdid her little drama.

His face turned stark white as he clutched his stomach, gasped, and crumbled unconscious to the floor.

_Hmmm._ House thought. Apparently, Wilson did get her drift.

*

While the woman cackled at her witchery, everyone else turned to see what was the matter with Wilson. House knelt down to check him out and kept the others at bay while he inspected his silent partner’s vital signs. As expected, there were none.

Hard to explain that to his staff.

Luckily, Wilson’s eyelids fluttered open. Looking into House’s eyes, barely moving his lips, he mouthed, “Get me out of here.”

Turning to his crew, House saw Foreman preparing to use his stethoscope, and Kutner had that gleam in his eye when he was about to call for a crash cart. He cut them off by yelling, “Don’t just stand there. Get me a wheelchair!”

While he waited, his eagle eyes did not leave the pale face until he was assured that the doctor was showing improvement.

As Wilson raised himself on his elbows, House finally turned to the cantankerous woman and said, “If you want ‘the Fonz’ to get well, then you better leave us alone to do our jobs. It was probably all your tea leaves and dripping candles that put him in the hospital in the first place.”

The woman was taken aback, but not entirely cowed. Excellent at divining others weak spots she challenged, “You have 24 hours. If it doesn’t look like my grandson’s improving, your friend vill need a coffin, not a vheelchair.”  
   
House made just enough noise to distract Kutner and Taub from checking Wilson's pulse or heartbeat as they assisted him into the chair. While steering the man as fast as he could out of the room, he barked commands to the four doctors to do tox screens if they hadn’t done so and breathe down the necks of the lab assistants to finish the tests.

* * *

With blinds drawn, House lounged behind the desk nudging objects into the wastebasket below with his cane as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Wilson was on his back stretched out on his couch, his hands clasped high on his chest.

Truth be told, the diagnostician was worried. He proffered his neck to his lover as soon as they were safely behind the locked door, but after one half-hearted sip, Wilson turned away.

While it did provide a quick pick-me-up it wasn’t going to last for long.

As far as the vampire sex. The usual whirlwind three continent tour was barely a scenic bus ride of downtown Trenton.

A belch issued from the couch. Other than that, Wilson was awfully quiet.

“I don’t recall any of Fonzi’s presenting symptoms being indigestion,” House mused out loud.

The remark provoked the biggest response in over an hour. “Maybe it was an early symptom no one noticed, or maybe it was from the greasy fries you insisted I order for lunch.”

“Which you barely ate. Feeling any better?”

“If conscious is better. Yes, I am.”

“Any other symptoms? Like constipation or a stick up your ass?”

That comment earned House a floorshow. Wilson went off like a Las Vegas stripper, getting all his pent up anger off his chest in a flash of sequins and glitter. Too bad House couldn’t get a lap dance while he pretended to listen.

“How could you, House!”

Wilson was definitely feeling better. He was pacing back in forth in his office.

“How could I what?”

A drop of spit landed in his eye as Wilson sputtered, “Let me walk into a room with a Gypsy! You know better than that!”

“I’ve had Roma patients before. You didn’t freak out last time—“

“No, because after you barged into my office interrupting my paperwork to talk about the case, I made a point to never come closer than thirty feet of your patient’s room.”

“And I should have warned you this time because…?”

“Gypsies have powers over vampires. Haven’t you watched ‘Angel?’”

Sitting up in his seat, House vanquished a mischievous smile. “'Angel?' Seriously? A television show created by a dorky balding guy who probably didn’t get laid until after 30?”

Snapping his fingers, Wilson shot back, “I almost forgot, Hair Club for Men left a message. Said they don’t have anything that fits your budget. They suggested you go out and buy a hat.”

Wagging a finger, Wilson continued. “Trust me, it’s true what you’ve heard about Gypsies. A woman saved my great-grandfather when he was a child and had a bad fever. She lit a candle, waving it over his chest while saying an incantation. The fever was gone the next day.”

“Don’t let the AMA hear you talk like that, Jimmy, or you’ll be running a blood bank down on the bad side of town.”

Wilson went mute.

“My bad. That was a low blow.” House capituated.

“That might not be such an awful idea,” the brown-eyed man responded.

“It might not?”

“Yeah. I should stay out of sight while you figure out what to do about these.” Wilson unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled it open.

Lumps and bulges were scattered all over his chest. The same as Fonso's, but he couldn’t blame the power of suggestion on Wilson’s torso. The one time the oncologist was in the room, the young man's medical gown was doing its job and covering him.

Whether Wilson’s new physique was real or not, it became suddenly clear that the old lady just signed him up as a sprinter in a race for time.

* * *

Yup. Something was definitely wrong with his vampire.

Wilson toed off his shoes before they made it to the second stop signal. He was complaining about the stiff leather pinching his toes.

The rest of the clothes were shed like boiled chicken falling off a bone soon after they reached House’s apartment. The suit and shirt were literally in shreds and ripping at the seams from the added “muscle” on Wilson’s body.

Stretched out on the bed, House muttered, “From Bela to Bruce Banner in less time than it takes Superman to put on his cape.” A slight exaggeration, but when he woke up this morning, he didn’t expect the Incredible Hulk sans green vegetable dye to be sharing his bed that night.

He could hear Wilson's voice roaring, “HOLY CRAP!!!” from the bathroom. Followed a second later by a roaring Wilson pounding into the bedroom. He made a mental note to take down the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

“House! Look at me! My body! My face! What the hell am I going to say to Cuddy when I show up to work tomorrow?”

“You call in and say, ‘Sick day!'” sang the svelte one of the pair.

Indeed, Wilson was nearly unrecognizable. The body was bulking up on its own, and still growing. The hair lengthened an inch just on the drive home, and the face. Well, he looked like a shar pei on steroids.

Much the twin to House's young patient.

Thumping over to House, Wilson groaned with the bed as it bravely supported his weight. Dropping his head into his hands, he moaned, “First a vampire, and now this. At least in less then 24 hours it all should be over.”

House was quiet. Sometimes when neither of them spoke, he could hear Wilson thinking.

He could stake his life on what was going to come out of the vampire's mouth right now.

"House?"

"Yeah."

"If you can't solve the case in time..."

"Dust you?"

The bed creaked in agreement keeping time with Wilson's bobbing head.

House fought back his own desperation as he searched for something to say that would make them both feel better.

"Hey, cheer up! It’s not all that bad.” House resisted calling "Timber!" as Wilson’s head dropped on to the pillow. The face turned to him eagerly for hope.

“Even with your puppy dog eyes, you have a chance of winning best of show in the ‘Ugliest Dog Contest.’”

The light dimmed in the chocolate browns.

“Consider your new-found strength to be another opportunity to get in touch with your inner boy scout. There are some lids that need opening in the kitchen. Been stuck since 1998.”

The eyes began to narrow. A deep growl issued from the lips.

Prickles traveled up House’s spine. He was getting the distinct impression his humor wasn’t going over well. He was playing to a tough dinner crowd who might want to make him the first course.

Come to think about it. Not a bad idea.

“What you need, Wilson, is a Big Gulp of AB positive.”

The St. Bernard turned away. “Not now. I’m not…hungry.”

“What do you mean you’re not hungry? You don’t get a choice if you want to get well.”

“I might crush you.”

Grabbing his cane, House brandished it. “For God’s sake, Wilson. Will this do? I promise to hit you over the head if you forget I’m not a stuffed animal.”

Wilson blinked at the stick of wood, sizing it up. “That’s not gonna do it.”

Looking for a more vulnerable spot, House scanned down Wilson’s trunk until he arrived at the…cock…and balls. His eyebrows rose in speculation. Formidable.

“Trust me. I’ll hurt you where it…counts…if the time comes.”

"That's, uh...good." Wilson almost turned the right shade of green for his Hulk-like body as he got House’s point, but his eyes began to ignite with silver sparks.

_Oh yeah._ House nuzzled close to firm flesh.

A well-muscled arm snaked behind his head as his eyes drooped in passionate anticipation. _Oh, Baby, Baby!_

Warm lips locked on to the base of his neck._ Come to Papa._

_Come to…to Mama…to…baby’s got a new pair of shoes! _

_What The Fuck Isn't Happening!_

House raised himself to get a closer look.

Embarrassment made Wilson’s puffy cheeks blush. He tried to say something, but the words were unrecognizable, as if something were stuck in his mou---

House pulled on Wilson's upper lip. His canines weren’t disappearing into the gum line, preventing the fangs from springing down. _Damn! Wilson couldn't get it up._

He was a periodontile dysfunctional vampire.  
_  
“Houston. We have a problem.”_

Both men stared at each other. They knew the seriousness of the situation.what it meant. If Wilson couldn’t suck blood, it was only a matter of time before he would die.

Discounting the curse, House calculated how long Wilson could survive without a refill. As long as the worst didn’t happen, he probably had week.

And then the worst happened…

Wilson sat up in the bed and vomited…

…blood.

* * *

“New symptom people!”

House wrote on the white board, _'Vomiting blood.'_

No point in sounding worried just because he felt that way. It was his way of coping. Never mind that the leg was beginning to bother him. Wilson could psychobabble about it as much as he wanted, but House thought the ache was a sign that the connection between them was weakening.

There was very little he could do for a cursed vampire, except watch Wilson's chances grow slimmer in beating the odds. By this time tomorrow, he'd be making funeral arrangements.

Texting the team to drop what they were doing and join him in his conference room for an emergency session, House wiped up after Wilson the best he could, running a hand over his partner's cheek before leaving to meet with them.

The brainstorming wasn’t going very well. There was too much storming on his part and not enough brains from his team.

“Anyone? Any ideas? If I wanted silence, I could have gone down to the chapel.”

The members of his team looked at each other in confusion.

Taub spoke up. He donned his calm doctor’s voice. “What makes you think that the patient was vomiting? Did you see him?"

Recognizing an awkward moment when he was hit over the head with one, House said, “Just rushing things to the proper conclusion. Don’t all our patients, eventually?”

 Thirteen took the stage, “Not this one.”

And then Kutner stole the limelight from her. “Unless you walked into the wrong room by mistake. The acute gastritis patient next door was throwing up blood when I walked by earlier."

House was shaken and stirred. Did the curse channel other illnesses as well? Wilson was suffering from two patients’ symptoms? No wonder she said he’d be dead within 24 hours.

Swallowing rising panic, he changed the subject. “Did you get the results of the tox screens and any of the tests?"

It was again Taub’s turn. “The screens came back negative. Not all the labs are back. Seems there’s been some sort of contamination issue. We had to redo the tests. Cuddy is looking into it.”

Foreman contributed, “We did get back x-rays. Everything looks normal. See for yourself.”

The organs looked fine, but the silhouette around the body didn’t. “What are these?” House pointed to the margins of the film. The background was shadowy, like a new moon against the sky.

“That’s the edge of the film, House. No body. No image.”

“Something’s off. I want new x-rays now, and I want you to stand over the tech who develops them.”

Foreman wrinkled his brow, “You’re thinking the films got switched?”

“I’m thinking some tech decided to get artistic. I’m going back to check on Wilson. Compare the two as soon as the second set is ready and call me.”

* * *

When House returned to the apartment, he was relieved to see Wilson must be feeling a little better. He was bundled up in a robe stretched out on the couch watching “The Iron Chef.” 

His head was at one end, and his feet dangled over the armrest on the other side. He must have grown at least six inches.

“What is the special ingredient?”

A laconic answer came from the couch. “What do you care?”

“Just because you’re fluffy doesn’t mean you have to get huffy with me,” House pushed back.

An almost unrecognizable face turned around to look at him, the charming brown eyes transformed into glowing green ones. A throaty thunderous roar accused, “Huffy?! You think I’m HUFFY!! Why don’t you try infuriated! Seething! ENRAGED!!!”

Whatever the boy's disease was, it was affecting Wilson's vampire side with super unnatural effects.

The hunka hunka burning hulk stormed off the sofa snarling and stomping toward House. The floorboards were rattling under his feet.

Fear tickled at the back of his neck as House realized he was about to become dog food and there was nothing he could do about it. Wilson was out-of-control. With his throbbing leg and Wilson’s additional height, weight and vampire strength now quadrupled by muscle mass there was no chance of outrunning or fighting him off.

All he could do was stand his ground.

In a flash, Wilson was towering over him, yelling as his voice cracked into a thousand slivers, “House, you abandoned me! I’m going to hell in a few hours, and you couldn’t stay and watch over me?!”

House looked up into the crazed eyes that were filling up with unshed tears. The statement was so many kinds of wrong, and so out of character, he didn’t know what to say, so he spit out the truth. “I’m doing the best I can, you fucking nut job. How will holding that catcher’s mitt of a hand help any?”

The hardball remark stung Wilson right between the eyes as he looked down in shock and swiped at his tears. “I’m losing it.”

He began swaying.

“Nuh-uh big fella. Fall here and you crash through the floor to the washing machines in the basement. Let’s get you back to the couch.”

Taking it slow, House navigated the “wide body” back to a cushioned surface.

In spirit and energy, Wilson was deflating like an aerial balloon – crashing to earth.

“You need blood.”

“I also need a pair of working fangs.”

Making eye contact, House made a “V” with his fingers, pointing back and forth between his blue eyes and the brown. “Listen to me, and stay calm.” Then squeezed the bulbous arm reassuringly. “I’ll be right back.”

House went to the bathroom, returning in five minutes. Gauze was wrapped around his forearm. He was carrying a water glass.

A third of it was filled with blood.

Lifting the tumbler to Wilson’s lips, he made a toast. “Salud.”

As the scarlet liquid drew nearer, Wilson grimaced and pushed it from him. “No, I can’t swallow it. Take it away.”

“Can’t swallow? Is there something wrong with your throat?”

The mastiff shook his head in dismay and wrinkled his nose. “No, but it smells funny.”

House began thinking. This was a new wrinkle on the earth’s crust. Perhaps a new symptom…

The answer was floating out on the horizon…

“It’s the same vintage blood that always drives you to NC-17 distraction. What is it you don’t like?”

Looking drained, Wilson was barely coherent. “It makes me gag. Smells like dirty pennies.”

House scoffed, “Don’t get all Stacy and PMS with---”

And then he had it. It all fell into place.

“Smells funny, huh?” House decided to test his theory and offer something the vampire should really hate. “How does chocolate sound? A cup of soothing hot cocoa?”

Cocking one heavy eyebrow in interest, Wilson nodded imperceptibly.

Jumping off the couch, House went off to the kitchen to microwave some cocoa mix.

He was elated as he stirred the contents of the mug and added his own secret ingredient. The Ban Man’s illness _was_ related to what was wrong with the Fonz. It wasn’t every day he was able to cure two icons in one day.

Wilson was once again his muse, and in this case, his litmus test.

*

Energy returned to Wilson with every sip of the blood-laced cocoa. Thankfully, he hesitated for only a moment, after asking about the odd color before he chugged down the steaming liquid.

House explained away the question by saying it was “dark” chocolate.

With the vampire side taking control, Wilson was also better able to rein in his temper.

Finally, a point for the good guys. House wanted him by his side for the next part.

Just then, House’s cell phone rang. It was Foreman. “You were right about the x-rays. The new film shows the stomach brighter than the rest of the organs. We checked with the developer, and he thought it was operator error on the part of the x-ray tech, so he underexposed the area to make it blend in. Our patient has a benign tumor that’s filling up his stomach cavity.”

House punched his fist into the air in victory. “And causing hormones to flood the body affecting appetite, body growth, and emotions. It was turning the kid into a gorilla-faced linebacker."

“The team’s on it. We’ll start prepping the kid right away for surgery.”

“No. Don’t start the prep. We’ve got time. The kid’s not dying. He’s super-sizing. Say nothing to the family until you hear back from me.

“And Foreman. Give me the phone number of the boy's grandmother…”

* * *

“What’s her name again, House?”

“I forgot the last one, but the first is Stanka.

“Seriously?”

“Could I make up a name like that? It’s Stanka. You know, like...'You stanka like-a onion.'”

“Like, that-a joke stinkas. But she agreed to meet us here in this bar?”

“Yeah. She’s running late. Maybe the wooden wheel on her wagon had a flat.”

“Maybe it vas hard for me to find a safe place in zis shtinking neighborhood to park my Lamborghini.”

Both men were startled. They hadn’t seen the old woman come in.

She sized them up while Wilson stood up and said deferentially, “Allow me, Baba,” as he pulled out a seat for her.

Stanka was gratified to see that her curse worked so well. The oddly dressed creature with impeccable manners was wearing sweats and sandals on his oversized feet. She wouldn’t have recognized the man as the handsome doctor from earlier if he didn’t look so much like her grandson – another wannabee Rocky Balboa.

That and his aura.

Peering at House, she said, “Your looks and manners vould definitely improve if someone Super Glued your mouth shut.”

Wilson sat back down with a snicker.

“Laughing at her remarks won’t make you any prettier, Dog-boy.”

Tapping her fingernails on the table, she reminded them why House called the meeting. “Ze only way you can save your wampire and restore his pretty looks is if you make my grandson healthy again.”

If the men were startled by her entrance, they were close to needing life support now.

“You know Wilson is a wampire? I mean vampire?”

“Of course. Right from ze start. Do you think I vaste a Gypsy spell, if I didn’t expect it to verk? I could smell him before you vere in ze room. And, the connection between you! If anybody else could see it, a biohazard team vould be called in to clean it up. I knew if I vanted results, I’d have appeal to the top man. So, vhat you got?”

Leaning in, House spread his own poker hand on the table, “What I got is one hell of a diagnosis and a sick vampire. You kill Wilson’s curse. I cure the kid. Whadya say?”

The woman narrowed her eyes, giving him the once over. “You vant zat I should lift ze curse first?”

“And drop the phony accent while you’re at it. Wilson has patients of his own that are sick and dying. They need his help. He may stink like a vampire, but he has a heart of solid gold. That’s why it’s too heavy to have a heartbeat.”

Wilson blinked with surprise at House’s testimony, but permitted a small smile.

Stanka stared for a moment at House. “You caught on to my accent? I suppose it’s easy for one drama queen to recognize another.”

She then turned her gaze to the giant beside her, placing her hand over his heart as if she were running her own diagnostic. “Hmmm.”

Squirming, Wilson was about to say something when she shushed him. “It’s unnecessary to put on a show for me by speeding up your heart. Be still and let me analyze it.”

Finally she spoke. “It’s true, your heart serves little purpose for keeping you alive. It’s more of a symbol of what you were…and what you do now.”

She looked at him appraisingly, “Have you been cursed by a Gypsy before? You seem to have a soul.”

For the third time that evening, the men were amazed.

Wilson answered, “No. Never. But much of my clan isn’t like Angelus.”

House squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re not getting back to Joss Whedon again are we?”

“One smart gadjo that Joss. He listened to my stories and paid me well." Avarice shined in the old woman’s eyes. “How do you think I got the Lamborghini?”

“So we got a deal, or are we going to talk old reruns all night?” House waved his cell phone in front of her, getting impatient.

“You know, you’re one hell of an asshole, but you make me smile. You got yourself a deal!"

With a few wild flourishes, an unintelligible rhyme, a hawk and a spit, she declared the curse removed.

And it was.

*

Wilson began shrinking to normal almost immediately. To avoid the already curious stares of the patrons, he left the bar, leaning against the brickwork of the building while he waited for House and Stanka to come out.

...And he waited.

He was busy rolling up sleeves and cuffs when the two of them walked outside, laughing and apparently the best of buddies.

House threw him his car keys, saying "Looking good, Wilson, but even at your normal size, the Lambo only fits two. See you back at the apartment. Latcho Drom."

_Tossed aside for a sweet ride, and now he's speaking Romanes__._ Wilson shrugged as he unlocked his car. What the hell. How much trouble could House get into, riding around with Gypsy chick? He decided it was best not to think about it.

What he did think about was how he was cursed with House as his minion.

Life couldn't get any better.

* * *

House walked back to his office, concentrating on limping for the benefit of the staff. Wilson showed up next to his shoulder and whispered, “Putting the cripple act on a little thick, aren’t you?”

“The more I limp the more people think I'm in pain, which makes it more acceptable for me to shout at them and get my way. Also, it's a great excuse to knock off early from work.”

“Yes, that makes perfect sense. Be unpleasant so people will agree to anything you want as long as it gets you out of their hair.”

“I figured it out by watching you and doing the opposite. You’re so busy playing nice Dr. Wilson you end up working all hours of the day and night.”

“And yet, you disprove your own theory. You’re still here. Were you visiting the Fonz?”

“He’s looking prettier than you now. Also, won a few rounds of three-card monte from Stanka. You know, she cheats.”

“What a coincidence. So do you.”

House took a chance, and broached one of Wilson’s forbidden topics, “But not on you.”

Caterpillars mated above brown eyes as Wilson looked around to see if anyone overheard.

House braced himself for a hissy fit.

Instead there was only a soft hiss as Wilson allowed his fangs to flick open for a second and disappear. “I’m kinda stuck on you too.”

.

.

* * *

**1) Romani - English Glossary:**  
Baba – term of respect for an old woman  
chaveske chikno – grandson  
dai – mother  
dilo – fool, imbecile  
Fonso – Romani proper name for Alfonso; means “noble and ready”  
Gadjikane – non Romani group  
Gadjo – non Gypsy male  
Latcho Drom -- Traditional Romany Farewell.  
Roma – The name the Romani people use to call themselves and their race  
Romanes -- The language of Roma.  
Stanka – Romani proper name; means “glorious government.”

**2)** The medical mystery came from ABC News. Click [here](http://abcnews.go.com/Primetime/Story?id=2293003&page=1).

**3)** Wilson's story about his great-grandfather is a family tale about my own grandfather.

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